I thought this fall was going to be good, then it looked like it wouldn’t be, and I quit trying to be brave and spent a week taking Xanax and driving around with the top off the car and looking at the blue, blue sky and not looking at those damn leaves. And that seems to have done it; that, and the fact that we’re still running early-mid September weather, and a pile of stuff that might have happened didn’t.

And then Daughter signed my birthday card; “We are Groot.”

Take that, stupid world.


Saving summer.

So I’ll put things here.

A neighbor, who had both wild and domestic grapes growing on an arbor, died two years ago. Last year, I noticed a wild grape growing in the area allowed to run amok, and let it stay, as a memorial of sorts. It has grown up my window. I like it.

Shadows in the morning.


A different morning, with wind.


Our Katniss likes to go out in the garage and pretend she is a wild creature. And also poop. (dear whomever, even my cat has issues. I don’t know how I can bear it.) So we humor her, and let her out into the garage. This morning I saw this.








I was reading some Le Guin and eating my oatmeal when I realized there was a discussion going on outside, between a crow and a songbird. Thinking about the outside world made me realize that I hadn’t seen any bees, since the Day of the Dandelions. So I took my book outside, to sit with the flowers.

bee balm

Crow wars were going on, a boundary dispute, I think. Five went southwest fast, and one returned to sit on the telephone wire. “Caw caw caw caw caw”, and then the return, another five caws, back and forth. Then a return to daily business, and I returned to my book.


Unabashedly proud of these; petunias grown from seed saved from petunias last year. It would be good to honor this feeling, and set up something for the winter, to start my own seedings.

My yard tends towards chaos; there’s a strip between downspouts that we’ve just sort of abandoned; It gets mowed maybe twice a summer, and I watch for interesting-looking things sprouting. I have a small stand of woodland sunflowers, probably ten plants that I’m waiting to see bloom, all coming from the first two, two years ago. The daylilies and a wild grape vine are having their own conflict there. And white clover runs in an arc along the corner of the yard, with a cluster of butter-and-eggs acting as its center point.

A pot of bush zucchini;


I can’t convey the shock value of these orange blossoms. And little zucchini coming along!

I have a garden every year that I can, but this year it seems to mean more.

We went to see Inside Out. Everybody’s telling the truth; it’s a great movie. And PEOPLE NOT ME applauded! So I did too. I’m really happy that people do that.

Daylily pictures!




I like this last one best. Some year I’ll take the ultimate daylily picture, and quit doing this.

The neighbors’ puppy:


Yes, I did have to get all artsy. I think there was some pretentiousness in there too. She’s just this scrawny thing, all dig and jump. The neighbor said “she’s a dumb dog, she doesn’t come.” I said, “she’s brilliant, she just needs puppy school. No, she’s not too young.” I am having hella time not going over there and kidnapping the wee thing. She is so cute!

And FINALLY!!! The hollyhocks I’ve waited for for three years.


I stole seeds from in front of the post office, from plants that look just like this. Maybe the seeds I spent a small fortune on the year after will bloom – next year.

Today was cool and rainy. The clouds broke up as we were coming out of the theater, so we drove down to the marina to watch the last 5 minutes of sun – bright red sun, from the forest fires. But it will be cool enough to sleep under the covers tonight, and warm enough by the end of the week to head up to Corny and go swimming.

It’s an Esquire article on Frank Sinatra, written by Gay Talese;

“… a star land of little men and little women sliding in and out of convertibles in tense tight pants.”

Just, wow.


Study of a Figure. Piet Mondrian. 1911, oil on canvas.


Grey Tree. Mondrian again. 1912, oil on canvas.

mondrian gingerpot

And again with the Mondrian. Still Life with Ginger Jar II, 1911/12, oil on canvas.

I’m reading “Mondrian” by Susanne Deichler, and learning things.

I tried a different doctor on Monday, but Mondays don’t go well for me, and I kinda got up and left, and went to the chiropractor, who said WHAT ON EARTH HAVE YOU BEEN DOING WHO CARES ABOUT YOUR LOWER BACK LOOK AT YOUR NECK WHAT DID YOU DO!!!!!!! Um, it’s maybe my job? And then there’s the sitting at a computer part, too, like when I dink around on facebook and do blog posts. And play solitaire. Can’t forget that.

So then I go to my regular doctor, whom I love dearly but she’s 40 miles away, but she’s very understanding that I might try another doctor (okay, maybe she’s trying to get rid of me). But anyway, I tell her my lower back is sore and my hips are sore and my left hip is probably arthritis but my right hip feels squishy and I don’t like that.

Now, think about telling a medical professional that your hip feels squishy, and having your medical professional say, “well that’s probably inflammation.” NOT “what kind of bullshit is that?” This is why I love my doctor. Anyway, she tells me to stand up and walk. And then walk with my hands out of my pockets, and then stand up straight. And then she says “You are all kinds of bent.” Or something like that.

I guess I stand sort of like this;

(Bernini, by the way)

Illustration is slightly exaggerated.

So, it was somewhere in there that she put her hands on my hips and poked and said is this tender? and I said ow yes how do you do that? Do you learn that in doctor school? She told me it was something you just pick up. And laughed, diabolically.

I love my doctor.

Okay, off the computer now!

But I ended up at this article, discussing William Bougereau’s place in art history. (I enjoyed it, the author knows stuff, you might like it.) Apparently, the guy liked to make money, so he painted things that wealthy people wanted to hang on their walls. Also, he was an Academy painter. Doomed to bourgeoisie, for sure.

La Bohemienne, I think?

Except he did those other paintings.


Dante et Virgile.

les oreades
Les Oreades.

Take what you want, and leave the rest, I guess.


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